


I would know him at the end of the world

by Adarian



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Asexual Relationship, M/M, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adarian/pseuds/Adarian
Summary: When Gimli is injured in the Battle of Helm's Deep, he is blinded and deafened. In his darkness, he can recognize Legolas and clings to him, trusting no one else.





	I would know him at the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [2000GigolasFics](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2000GigolasFics) collection. 



When Gimli came to, his first thought was of Eowyn. Was the girl safe? She had been fighting with the strength of a mountain, but young people fell like stars in war. He did not hear her war cries nor any of the sobs of the fearful. He heard nothing. Not the far off calls of warriors, not even his own shaky breath though he could feel it on his lips. Whatever place he was in, it was dark, darker than any place he had been before and quieter than a winter's night. Underground still? But the caves had shone so brightly, so beautifully. Had their light been destroyed?

He felt a rough hand on his arm and he pulled away, demanding their name. But he did not hear his own voice. He spoke again and there was still silence. He placed two fingers against his throat and he felt his words vibrate through them. 

The realization hit him harder than any hammer ever forged. It was not that the world had grown silent. He had been deafened. And this darkness...no. It was the plight of old men to lose their hearing after years at the anvil. But to no longer see as well...no, he had no reason to believe that yet. He had to hold on to this one hope. The dawn would break, the shadows would flee and he would once gaze upon the glittering stones and see Eowyn alive and well. Helm's Deep would be safe, the battle over, and he would laugh at his misplaced fear.

He sensed the heat of fire and he opened his eyes, attempting to gather his bearings. He could feel it, even on his cheeks and nose. It was so close and yet the world was still as dark and still as silent. Tears streamed down his face and he felt his cry rattle through his chest. No. No. NO.

He shoved the intruder away, pushed hard and cursed and swore until another pair of hands touched his face. Gimli knew this presence. He had spent weeks riding with him. He knew how the rise and fall of his chest felt against his back. He knew the strange softness of his hands and their long slender fingers. He did not need his eyes to know that Legolas knelt before him. He did not need his ears to hear Legolas encouraging him to slow his breathing.

Gimli leaned into his touch, desperate for that anchor to his world. If he had the words to beg, he would have. Make this go away. Make this better. Give me back my eyes so I can look upon your face and know that you are well. Give me back my ears so I can hear that we are safe. Help me. HELP ME. 

Gimli felt Legolas' willowy arms pull him close to him. He felt Legolas' breath against his cheek, felt the warmth of his comfort without knowing what he had said. Gimli grasped onto him, sure of only him. Legolas was alive and breathing. Legolas was here. The rest he could survive, yes, but not alone.

Was this dying? Was this only a remnant stirring once more before returning to the stone? No. It should not be like this. In battle or as an old man in bed, not in this torturous blackness, not with his friend holding him as Gimli sobbed childishly. He could fight this. He had to fight back. He had to live.

His fist was nudged open with Legolas' fingers and the elf traced lines deeply into his palm. He repeated them again and again until Gimli recognized that he was drawing in Cirth against his skin. The rune was shaky, childish, but its insistence only drove the point home. 

_Trust._

Gimli shut his eyes tight and nodded. Yes. Always yes. 

Legolas helped him to his feet and placed his arm around his shoulders. His other hand took his and he led them forward. Each step made him feel as if he would plunge again into the dark, to fall to his death as Gandalf had in Moira. Legolas gripped him as tightly as a bow and Gimli focused everything on that connection. Legolas would not let him stumble. 

Gimli felt the sunlight against his cheeks and the last of his hope was dashed. He trembled and Legolas held him upright. He could feel Legolas' breath against his face, perhaps a whisper of encouragement. He did not know. It did not matter. He would never hear his voice again.

He nearly broke then, but he did not know where he was or if they were alone now. He bit his lip and turned his attention to the pain in his head. A swelling perhaps. Yes. His sight and hearing could return. This might not be forever. Legolas knew few Cirth characters but he could learn. Gimli could ask. Yes. Even just a yes or no could ease his heart. He could adjust and mourn if he only knew if this was a wound or if this was his existence. 

Gimli felt the edge of a cot and Legolas helped him to sit upright. His helmet was removed and gentle fingers examined his scalp. The elf was beside him, his hand still in his just as tightly. He felt the warmth of fire on his face but still saw nothing.

The wound was washed and Gimli flinched as a poultice was bound against his skin. Legolas let go and Gimli panicked, reaching out for him. Legolas took his palm again and wrote the same rune.

_Trust._

Gimli nodded and then the healer's fingers parted his eyelids and washed something bitter and stinging into them. Gimli growled, trying not to scream. Legolas held his shoulders, his breath on his ear, perhaps apologizing, perhaps telling him to remain quiet. When it was over, the healer opened Gimli's mouth and poured something equally foul down it.

Legolas gently laid him on the bed and pulled a blanket around him. Gimli understood. He was to rest. Gimli closed his sore eyes and he felt Legolas lying down beside him. Gimli fell asleep holding his hand. 

Gimli woke in darkness. He panicked, but felt a hand against his shoulder. He could smell Legolas. He used to think all elves smelled like the perfumed, delicate creatures that his father had spoken so derisively of. Legolas smelled of the world. He smelled like the ground when the rain first touches it. He smelled of little flower buds just beginning to bloom. The elves were immortal, yes, but Legolas was so fully alive that he seemed of another race entirely. Everything about him, from his scent, to his touch, all spoke of enduring, continually changing existence and Gimli needed only his presence to remind him that his life was not yet over.

Gimli sat as Legolas brought him bread and water. Gimli managed to consume them both, though he knew half of the water fell onto his shirt. All was still for a time until fingers pressed into his head wound. He winced and scowled but it had little effect on whoever examined him. The poultice was removed and replaced. The same foul liquid was poured in his eyes. Gimli was laid down again, something warm slipped under his neck. 

A sprig of lavender was hung somewhere above him, or maybe just to his side. It was probably meant to be a comfort, but it only made the room hazier. He could not sense anything but its overpowering smell. 

He reached out for Legolas, but felt nothing. His heart skipped a beat and he sat up, only to be gently pinned down again. The rune was traced across his chest and Gimli scowled. The boy was expecting a lot from one word. 

But Legolas laid beside him again, resting his head on Gimli's uninjured shoulder. The dwarf turned to look at him, even though he could not see. It was a reflex that brought him only pain. He was alone. He was trapped still underground, caved into his own body. He was a ghost crushed under rubble. 

Legolas' hand rested on his racing heart. Gimli tried to catch his breath but he failed. Fear spiked through him and Legolas pressed his forehead against his. Legolas breathed deeply and slowly. Gimli tried to copy his breaths, his body trembling with the effort. The wind inside of him was not caged. It could move freely. He was not trapped, no matter how much he felt it. 

Without words he begged, _Do not go._

And as if he heard, Legolas kissed his brow before lying beside him again, his hand still on his slowing heart. 

Gimli rested once again. Though Legolas did not move, Gimli knew he had slipped into dreams when he could see his kind eyes once again.

***

Gimli stirred but the chasm remained. He put out his hand to see that Legolas was gone. He took a deep breath and felt around some more. It was the same cot and he suspected in some sort of tent. He was wearing only his traveling shift, the rest of his clothes and armour discarded somewhere. His hair was disgusting to touch and he grimaced before wiping his hand off on his clothing.

He tried to sit up but the pain in his head sharpened cruelly. He lowered himself again, slowing his breath. He tried again, pushing through the pain to be completely upright. He tried to stand, gripping the side of the cot. He managed, shakily, to walk a few paces forward without tumbling to the dirt.

A rough hand tried to help him up and he let it, bristling at the stranger. They helped him back to the cot before examining his wound again. Opening the poultice ripped out some of his hair and his skin throbbed in protest. The stranger tried to open it further, but Gimli pushed them away and put his hand over his wound, begging it to stop stinging. 

A hand laid upon his and Gimli looked up with blind eyes. Legolas gently moved their hands aside and wet the poultice with cold water before ever so carefully removing it. Gimli winced but allowed it. Gimli was guided to lean forward. The dwarf shivered as cold water trickled down his neck. When his hair was soaked through, a heavy comb was stroked through it, breaking down the blood and dirt until it was simply washed away. When Legolas reached his wound, he took a cloth and wiped it tenderly, cleaning and drying it before rebandaging it. 

Gimli sat up, expecting that he was done, but Legolas picked up another comb - lighter, nimbler - and brushed again. He felt the beginnings of a braid and he froze. He had not had another braid his hair since he was a child. To feel an elf's fingers working his hair felt half-sacrilege. If his family had seen him then, he would been dragged away by his ear and lectured.

But Legolas was slow and patient. He imagined he was struggling slightly to replicate a dwarven pattern. Gimli just waited anxiously, unsure of what the elf meant by this gesture. It was kindness, certainly, and practical to make sure his wound was clear of his thick, unruly hair. But it was an act of kinship among his kind. Surely among the prudish elves it was even more intimate. Maybe even indecent.

The thought made Gimli laugh a little but he stayed still as Legolas tied off the last few strands. Gimli reached back to feel and was somewhat disappointed to find that it was not the intricate weavings of an elf or a dwarf. They were almost the sort of braids that a human peasant girl might wear. Simple. Utilitarian. It was possible that Legolas had not wanted to offend him. Likely, surely. It was not as if he could have asked his preference.

Gimli laid down again, his wet hair soaking through his shift. Someone pulled the blankets around him and he curled into them, once again drifting into sleep. 

***

When Gimli woke, the first thing he noticed was the blood pounding in his ears. It felt as if they were ablaze and he clasped them to his head, willing the pain to stop. He heard his heartbeat in his fingers and he gasped.

He lowered his hands and tried to speak. He heard his words faintly and pressed his fingers to his throat, feeling the vibrations as he tried again.

"Legolas?"

Legolas' voice was softer and gentler than he had ever heard. "Gimli?"

"Aye. I can hear you." 

He felt the elf's lips on his brow in a quick kiss before the elf began a quick litany in the words of his people. He slipped back into the common tongue and whispered, "Oh my friend, my dearest friend. I thought I lost you."

Gimli pressed his aching forehead against his. He had no words for how grateful he was for this moment. He had no words that could express his gratitude, his respect, or even his affection. And he was greedy. He had won his ears but he wanted his eyes. He wanted to see his face again, to see those grey eyes, to see his rare smile. He wanted so badly to be whole, whole enough to say what he should have for so long.

And what were those words in their shared language? What he felt was not the longing that a lover felt nor was it simply that he valued their friendship. It was...there was a word in his language that he could not share, not even with him. To love and be loved in return as a friend, a brother, as a soul mate. He wanted to spend his days by his side, to commit his love to him, and to never be apart from him until the day he died.

Instead Gimli murmured, "Eowyn?"

"Safe, well, and reunited with her brother. The battle is over. All are safe."

The rest of the world began to creep in. He could hear the horses in the distance, men laughing around an open fire, meat roasting over a spit. 

"You were injured," Legolas explained. "The human healer said that poison had entered your wound you could not hear or see until the blood thinned. He wanted to drain your veins. So I found one of my people who helped me with our medicine. She said that your head was swollen and you would recover with rest and through cleansing."

"It does not surprise me that an elf thought a dwarf had a swollen head," Gimli chuckled. "Is this why I feel as I could sleep an age?"

"It is very strong medicine," Legolas agreed. "It is remarkable you woke at all. She was reluctant to treat you and I suspect was pleased that she had little interaction with you."

"Will I see?" Gimli asked.

Legolas admitted, "I do not know. Liharia was doubtful but she does not know you as well as I do. If there is a person alive stubborn enough to see again, it is you."

Gimli laughed. "I do not know if that is praise or complaint."

"If it comes from my lips, assume the former, my friend."

"That is a new development then. You have always been eager enough to mock."

Legolas' hand trembled against his cheek. "Tease, yes, but even that seems hard to fathom now. These past few days I have thought near constantly of you, of how foolish it was to joke when I should have said how I felt."

Gimli's heart nearly stopped. "And what is that?"

The elf's breath grew shaky as he asked, "Will you trust me once more?"

Gimli nodded and Legolas kissed his lips. It was chaste but a warmth filled him. The dwarf opened his eyes and the world flooded in once more. Legolas looked at him hopefully, his face worn and his eyes sorrowful. It was more than just exhaustion. He had faded, just a little, enough that he looked more grey than green. Whatever essence that allowed elves to always be young and beautiful had diminished. In his kiss, he had given a sliver of his vitality to return Gimli's sight.

Upon the realization, Gimli gasped, "Lad, what have you done?" 

Legolas confessed, "I have known many a mortal in my life. I have lost friends again and again until all of those I love seem like a summer's day that only I remember. It is a pain that is worthwhile, to love and be loved in return. I know this is why my kind does not entangle itself in the affairs of Middle-Earth. It is a fact that I thought I had understood for centuries. But...but for the five hours before you were found in the Glittering Caves, I saw my life without you in it and it nearly destroyed me. I know that fate will take you from me one day but I doubt I will survive it. And I find that I do not care. What I want is to spend whatever days we both have with each other. I want no wife, I want no children. I simply want my truest friend and companion by my side. To live as kin and beloved for whatever time we are given. Gimli...Gimli, I love you." 

As Legolas spoke, Gimli wrapped the blankets around them both. He took his cold hands and held them in his own. He focused on the task of preventing Legolas from going into shock until the elf was foolish enough to say that he loved him. 

Then Gimli was foolish enough to kiss him in return. Just as light and gentle, just as warm and healing. He held onto him, both tired and aching, both worn and weary. 

"And I you," he admitted. "I feel as you feel and I want what you want. But if you do this again, you will break my heart. I am mortal, yes, but you are not. Let me live my life knowing the most beautiful part of it will survive me." 

Legolas did not argue. Either he had no words or he was wise enough to know that he would not win. Instead he curled onto Gimli's chest, almost small against his body. The rest of the world did not matter, as they healed together, as the presence of the other soothed their wounds.


End file.
